Some Kind of Strength
by The Plaid Slytherin
Summary: After the battle, Narcissa and Lucius reconnect.


Written for the 2016 round of Chocolate Box on AO3.

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The battle had been over for hours, but Narcissa did not notice the passage of time, bent as she was to her task. She knew the most seriously wounded people had already been taken care of, and with the celebratory atmosphere enveloping most of the castle, many were ignoring their own more minor injuries, but she needed something to do. Simple healing spells were just the thing—they were easy, but required concentration, so they kept her mind off the uncertainties.

Every so often, a glance told her that Lucius and Draco were still there, that they had not been taken away somewhere. Perhaps they ought to have gone home. She did not imagine the defenders of Hogwarts appreciated the reminder of her family's former loyalties. Even their neutrality during the battle would be a poor salve to the wounds of those who had lost loved ones to Voldemort, perhaps even at Lucius' own hands in the days he had served the Dark Lord faithfully.

But it helped relieve Narcissa's conscience, if nothing else. She did not know what status her family would have in this new world, but at least she could do this bit of service, in the hopes of redeeming the name of Malfoy.

She cast another healing spell, on a girl she was sure had to be at least two years younger than Draco. Narcissa had no idea of the girl's house, her family name, even whether she was pure-blood or Muggle-born. When was the last time she had interacted with someone and not known those things?

"Narcissa, you must rest. When did you last sit down?" Lucius appeared from behind her. "You have been up for days by now."

"So have you, my love." The dark circles under his eyes were still there, but they would fade soon. She looked forward to having her Lucius back, the man she had fallen in love with within these very walls, before he had been consumed by service to Voldemort. In the past year, he had become but a shell of his proud self; Azkaban and Voldemort had done that to him. "There will be time to rest later. I want to do what I can now."

Lucius smiled and already, she could see a hint of how he would look with this weight finally lifted from his shoulders. "But consider your health. You fought your own battle today."

The memory returned in a sudden burst, hardly seeming real. She remembered being in the forest, being asked to check if the Potter boy lived, but she did not remember lying to the Dark Lord. All she remembered was Potter's answer— _yes_. Draco lived and that was all that mattered.

She glanced over at the Slytherin table where Draco now sat with Gregory Goyle. She would talk to him later, but for now, it seemed he needed the support of his friend, not his mother.

Lucius' hand moved from her arm to the back of her neck, to the spot he knew made her powerless to resist. "At least come out for some air with me."

Narcissa looked around the hall. There were only a few left who needed what little care she could provide. As they left, she felt Kingsley Shacklebolt's eyes on them. Would they be allowed by? She noticed Lucius watching, as well, but he kept his head high as they passed into the entrance hall.

"He can't make his move now," he said, answer the question she dared not ask. "Their focus will be on flushing out those who fled… we have witnesses who will say we never fought in the battle."

"But _will_ they?" The two great front doors had been blasted away at some point and she felt a pang of grief. It seemed ridiculous when so many had died, but Hogwarts was a touchstone for all of them, no matter which side they had started on, and the castle had borne the weight of both sides' fury.

"I cannot say. We must have hope." He paused. A gentle breeze from the lake blew strands of his hair across his face. "I won't lie again, Narcissa. They would never believe it this time, to be sure."

She squeezed his arm. "I understand. You were protecting me and Draco. You were young, Lucius, too young to be faced with that burden."

He shook his head. "You flatter me, my dear, but, no. I was a coward then. I did not want to go to Azkaban, that is all. You and Draco were a consideration, naturally, but I am afraid it was not my primary one. Things are different now, but I must be honest with you."

"I know." She brushed her fingertips over his cheek and he smiled at the simple touch. "Our marriage weathered that war; it will weather this one."

"You survived when I was sent to Azkaban after that debacle at the Ministry. You can survive it again." His face was grim once more.

"Do you really think it will come to that?"

He sighed. He looked vulnerable, broken, but there was a trace of the proud man she had known before. Even if he never fully became that man again, they would remake themselves anew, on their own terms. "It should, if Shacklebolt means to truly solidify his new regime. There must be nothing left of the government that allowed the Dark Lord to take power. Not that I have any interest in interfering myself. I have had my fill of politics."

They had reached the lakeshore now. Narcissa's mind was drawn back to a May morning of long ago, at the end of Lucius' seventh year. At the time, to her young mind, the prospect of a whole year of school without him had been agony. The year until they could be married had seemed to take a lifetime and those early days with Lucius had been a heady delight. He had been rising quickly in the ranks of the Death Eaters and she had been just as enthusiastic as her husband and sister about the future of wizardkind. All that had come crashing down after the war, but they had emerged stronger for it.

"We will withstand this," she said.

"Of course we will." He pulled her close. "If nothing else, the Potter boy will say that you saved his life. Our entire world, Narcissa. People will see the meaning of what you did."

She did not feel that she had saved their entire world. She only felt tired—she had her husband and her son, but then there was the dead sister she was not sure if she should mourn, especially in the face of Andromeda's enormous loss.

"And if they don't?"

"Then we will get through it, my darling." His thumb brushed below her eye. "As we have before." His kiss radiated strength, a hint of hope. The past few months had been so full of fear that she had almost forgotten what this felt like. She needed this, needed him. They would get through it. They had to. There was no other choice.


End file.
